The Leaves are Gently Falling

Mother Nature stands at the edge of the woods; she raises her palm and blows a warm breath against it. And gold and red and brown glitter settles upon the leaves of the aspen and maple and birch trees. Autumn has arrived and it is glorious.

Winter is pushing the calendar, though, edging its way into the auburn-colored days. The sibling seasons tug on this last day of October, each unwilling to yield to the other. And Mother Nature watches, a smile on her sweet face. She knows that some of the most brilliant moments come from this battle of wills. And she has patience the year long...

Del Sol watches in amusement - he puffs a big fat cigar and white clouds billow across the afternoon sky. The Man in the Moon hides on the horizon, waiting. At dusk, he will climb the clouds to settle, a fingernail tipped up to hold the winter's snowy weather at bay for a short while longer. His patience is wearing thin.

Bats fly with one mind, zigging then zagging; they pass in front of the bright moon like a witch's hand blessing the land. Or cursing it, depending on your point of view.

Mother Nature spreads a misty shroud across the valley; she knows the season is dying, and so she prepares the land. The trees weep and stand in great puddles of their own golden tears. The ground goes hard as cold seeps into its bones. And just as the last burnished leaves settle on the ground, the first white flakes of glittering snow drift on a gentle, dying breeze.